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When I was a kid we lived in a 150 year-old house. I had a reoccuring nightmare where my family was dead or disappeared, and I was knocking on the doors of all of the neighbors but no one would take me in, or even acknowledge that they knew me.
Thirty years later, I was talking to my father, without mentioning the reoccuring dream, and he said that when we lived in that old house, which was far off the road, and surrounded by woods, he was often awakened by a knock at the door in the middle of the night. He would answer it, but no one would be there.
He said he just figured that it was the ghosts of the two kids who survived an Indian massacre that murdered their family. (And my father is a highly educated electrical engineer.
My neighbors in France all believe in ghosts . . . but I haven't encountered one yet in my house there . . . although I'd like to!
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